


The Best Kept Secrets

by snufflesfoot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon Era, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Magic Revealed, but also a little angst?, portray arthur as the intelligent bastard he is 2k18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16065716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snufflesfoot/pseuds/snufflesfoot
Summary: Merlin goes to Ealdor for the harvest festival, to see his mother, and most importantly, to take a break from Arthur. Arthur tags along.





	The Best Kept Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> My fix-it fic, aka here's to neatly sidestepping canon like you would a piece of shit on the sidewalk.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta [trashcandrafts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcandrafts/works/)! All remaining mistakes are mine.

The ground is soft where Merlin wanders along the small copse of trees, right before the forest thickens into wilderness. He drops down to sit with his back against an old oak tree.

He's far enough away that the quiet murmur of the town falls away, but not so far that he can’t run back before dark falls, and he smiles, thinking of all the times he had done just that.

This tree, Merlin remembers fondly, was his choice victim for his earliest magical enterprises. As a baby, his magic was largely wobbly, used to make his rattle give a pitiful shudder or make his wooden dolls do a reluctant dance. His first big bit of magic was grand, spectacular in the way only the young and carefree can be. He was five and angry at the winter for stripping his favorite tree bare, and then it wasn't anymore. Bare, that is. In fact, it was the most alive he'd ever seen it, with shiny green leaves and perfect pink blossoms overflowing the branches–like something plucked out of an eternal summerland and planted in the middle of a tundra. He had pulled his mother there and she had been furious and terrified and everything in between. No one had seen but she wouldn't let him out of the house for days anyway.

In any case, it had been a good spot to practice, to figure out what exactly it was that was thrumming under his skin, as warm and sure as his beating heart. Here he had coaxed plants from beneath the dry ground, wrung the rain from the sparse clouds, held back the winter gales, crackled tiny shards of lightning to life.

He remembers how once when he brought Will here to show off, he turned all the leaves in the forest rainbow and couldn't change them back for hours while Will cried laughing on the ground.

A light evening breeze plays around him, bringing the smell of wildflowers with it. Harvest season brings earlier sunsets, and this one is fiery, painting the sky purple, red, and gold behind the backlit clouds. He leans back, content to be home. Camelot is adventure and destiny; he knows his worth there, is tested it every day. But Ealdor is safe, sleepy, carefree and Merlin is free of responsibilities and secrets and serving –

" _MERLIN!_ "

Merlin drops his head into his hands and groans, deeply.

 

~*~

 

_Merlin sits on a log with ants and lichen crawling along it, absently poking at the fire. Leaves, burnt gold and tarnished orange, swish together in little whirlwinds at his feet as dusk settles around him._

_He wanted to make it halfway to Ealdor by nightfall, but his horse had been giving him vaguely threatening whinnies for the past hour, so he decided to call it a night with only four hours behind him._

_After gulping down a small bowl of soup, he gets out his bedroll, and then realizes that he has absolutely no desire to sleep. Maybe it's excitement, or apprehension, or a mixture of the two. He wonders what would have changed after two years, what people would now think of him, a servant of the palace._

_These people have never loved the crown, what with Cenred's treacherous reign, and even if they liked Arthur for giving them their freedom, Uther's protection of the remote village is still reluctant at best. Supposedly, Merlin went to Camelot to help his mother with money, but would they understand that, or dismiss him as just a foolish boy, or scorn him for hypocrisy?_

_He sighs, and pushes it out of his mind. Pointless to think about it now. Scooting closer to the fire and holding out his hands for warmth, he thinks at least his mother will be happy to see him._

_Merlin smiles at the thought of seeing her after so long. Little shapes made of sparks appear in the fire before him, like memories. Tiny figures of Merlin running through the fields because he refuses to bathe and his mother chasing after him, laughing through her scolds. Her holding him close after a scraped knee and wiping his tears with the corner of her apron._

_His horse whinnies softly and Merlin looks up just as there's a --_

Crack!

_He's up in a heartbeat, arm stretched out and ready to spit out a curse at whatever monster was –_

_"What were you going to do,_ shoo _away a monster five times your size?" Arthur asks flippantly as he steps into the clearing with his horse behind him._

_"Uh," Merlin says intelligently, and lowers his arm, quickly waving away the shapes in the fire. He thinks Arthur didn’t see, as he’s giving Merlin an impressive look of annoyance. Merlin doesn’t know what he could possibly have done to evoke such an emotion in such a short amount of time and if anything, he’s the one who should be annoyed. Arthur’s the one who’s apparently followed him on his bloody vacation of all things. But still, something in Merlin loosens at the sight of him._

_"Arthur. What are you doing here?"_

_"Making sure you don't get yourself killed, obviously. Honestly, did you even bring a sword, you idiot?"_

_"I, uh. Wait, yes! Yes, I did!" Merlin fumbles for it in his saddle and holds it up proudly, though the weight of it is too great and it quivers in his hand, pathetically._

_Arthur gives him an unimpressed look as he plops down on a log and drawls, "I'm sure you could've saved the day with that.” He pulls out an apple from Merlin’s pack and bites into it, all the while staring at Merlin, supremely unconcerned._

_Merlin, for his part, is utterly lost on the subject of all events directly succeeding the appearance of Arthur. “So, uh,” he starts, hesitant, “you’re coming with me?”_

_Arthur shrugs. “Princes need vacations too, Merlin. Contrary to whatever you may think, we don’t just sit around all day, bossing people around.”_

_Merlin is highly dubious of this statement, but doesn’t voice his opinions._

_“Besides, someone’s got to make sure you don’t trip over your own sword and impale yourself.”_

_And that was that._

 

~*~

 

“If you think I came here to do what I do for you in Camelot then you are sorely –”

“Dinner’s ready.”

Merlin blinks while Arthur looks like he’s trying not to laugh. He rolls his eyes with great conviction and gets up, dusting himself off.

“Well, come on then,” Merlin says, leading the way. “I hope your adoring masses have found better things to do by now.”

At least Arthur has the grace to blush.

Merlin snorts. Granted, the majority of these admirers were pre-pubescent girls, but the rest of the town wasn’t exactly pelting him with stones either. The elderly women were especially bad, going so far as to coo over him and Old Woman Alis had actually pinched his cheek while Arthur had stood shocked and mildly terrified.

At least now he knew his fears of being shunned were all for naught. Embarrassing Arthur was merely an added bonus.

Arthur looks up then, and smirks. “Don’t be jealous, Merlin, just because they love me more than you doesn’t mean you’re entirely worthless. It’s --”

He interrupts himself to yelp, as Merlin’s shoved him into a nearby mud puddle.

 

~*~

 

They clatter into the house pushing and shoving and laughing and run right into Hunith.

"Boys," she says, hands on her hips but a smile on her face, "it's about time. Arthur, wash that dirt off your face, and Merlin, come help me set the table."

They both mumble their apologies and Arthur goes out back to use the water pump. Merlin gets to setting the table, but after a while he realizes that his mother is standing still, looking at him.

"What is it, Mum?"

"Nothing, I just--" she sighs. "I worry about you. It's dangerous for you there."

Merlin smiles, lays the plate down and goes over to hug his mother. "I know, but I'm careful.

Besides, there's so much hustle and bustle in Camelot that people barely know I exist, much less suspect me of anything." And it's true; he knows he's been reckless at times, but he's not been burned at the pyre yet, so that has to count for something.

He gives her his best reassuring smile, which isn't half as convincing as it used to be. It lifts the weariness from Hunith's face anyway.

"And why haven't you come home sooner, young man?" she says. "I missed you all these years, and I know you love the festival."

Merlin hears the creak of the back door closing, so he says, loud enough for Arthur to hear as he steps back into the kitchen, "Guess this was the year I finally got too tired of Arthur."

Arthur gives a surprised laugh. "I'm still your prince, you know."

Merlin gives a deep bow, his arm sweeping the dirt floor, and says, reverent as anything, "Of course, Your Royal Highness. How treasonous of me."

Arthur maturely sticks his tongue out.

After a dinner of warm bread and cheese, Hunith bids them goodnight and goes to bed in the only other room in the cottage. Merlin and Arthur are left to contemplate the single cot in the corner.

"Well, I'm exhausted. Off to bed, then?" Merlin says with a yawn and a stretch.

"But," Arthur says, confused, "where are you going to sleep?"

Merlin gives him a sidelong glance. "On the cot," Merlin says slowly, like Arthur's touched in the head.

"But that's where I'm sleeping," Arthur says slowly, like Merlin's touched in the head.

"No," Merlin corrects. "That's where _we're_ sleeping. Arthur, I don't know why you're surprised, we've had to do this before. It's not like my mother's dramatically renovated the place."

"Fine, but I'm not sleeping with your smelly feet in my face this time," Arthur huffs and gets in bed and takes up far too much space.

Which is how Merlin ends up staring at the crown prince of Camelot as moonlight drips through the slats in the roof and pools on the planes of his soft, sleeping face. His magic tingles through him and the chair next to him starts to gently rock back and forth. He clenches his hands by his side before his magic tries to rock Arthur to sleep next or some other such ridiculous thing.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, Hunith wakes Merlin up bright and early.

"There's just the last bit of grain that needs cutting on Jonathon's plot. I promised him you'd help, won't you Merlin."

"Yes, Mum," he mumbles from under a pile of blankets.

"I'd love to help too, Hunith," Merlin hears from beside him, and he shoots up in bed, turns to gape at Arthur who's bright eyed and smiling. Usually it takes nothing less than a bucket of cold water to the head to get Arthur up.

"Wha—Whe—How—" he sputters.

"Come on Merlin," Arthur says serenely, "up and at 'em!"

Merlin gapes some more.

After a quick breakfast, they walk to Jonathon's house. The sun is warm above them, and a cool breeze tempers the heat. They work through noon, and Arthur has caught on fast, quickly and efficiently scything the grain and tying it into neat bunches.

Amazingly, Merlin has yet to hear Arthur complain, either about the work or the hard cot he was given last night. In fact, Merlin rather thinks there's a smile, small and real, on Arthur's face more often than not.

Perhaps it's the people, Merlin thinks. Ealdor knows Arthur is a hero, of course, he's proven that. But they also know his flaws; they've seen him bleed. They know he's human. And Arthur needs more people who know he's only human. Merlin smiles to himself, and gets back to work.

Later in the evening, when Merlin is taking a walk and enjoying the cool breeze, all the children in Ealdor accost him and coerce him into helping them make kites.

Merlin is entangled in sticks and old cloth and spools of thread when Arthur stumbles upon them and laughs at Merlin for much too long before unraveling him from the mess.

The children are utterly in awe of Arthur. After a few minutes of watching them giggle and elbow each other and nervously ask if he could please show them how to sword fight sometime, Your Highness, Merlin rolls his eyes so hard he gives himself a headache.

"You're as bad as the old ladies," Merlin grumbles at them, and for that gets chased around by the hoard and tickled mercilessly when caught.

Merlin can't even find it in himself to be annoyed when Arthur roars with laughter throughout Merlin's entire ordeal. He feels a smile slip out despite himself and goes all warm inside and suddenly, the tree Arthur's standing under gives a great shudder. The last of its flowers fall on Arthur and he looks up in confusion, then smiles wide at the pink and white petals around him, resting on his shoulders and settling in his hair like a crown.

Merlin stomps his foot at his magic and huffs.

 

~*~

 

Merlin wakes the next morning to the distinct sound of Arthur bellowing in his ear. 

He groans into his pillow, squashes the urge to turn Arthur into a toad, and rolls over to the other side in hopes of ending his suffering.

No such luck.

Arthur pulls at his shoulder and rolls him back. At this point, Merlin figures he should stop being rolled about like a bale of hay, and sits up. Immediately, he's hit with an oppressive and all-drenching heat.

"What?" he whines.

Arthur blinks, like he can't believe his whinging actually worked.

"I'm melting," he announces. "I'm drowning in my own sweat."

"Hmm," Merlin says, getting up to make the bed. "I am, perhaps, willing to concede that it is an unseasonably warm day."

Arthur smiles in victory.

"But," Merlin continues, refusing to let Arthur have this, "that just means it's the perfect day to do the washing!"

Arthur's smile slips off. "What?" he says, indignant. "I'm the crown prince. I'm not going to do your laundry."

"No," Merlin agrees. "You're going to do yours."

 

~*~

 

"Good thing it's going to rain." 

Arthur looks at him from where he's squatting by the riverbank, wringing out his tunic. Then he looks at the sky, wide and bright blue, with clouds stretched thin across it.

"It's not going to rain," he tells Merlin.

It's breathlessly hot, but Merlin feels the thunder in the air, feels it thrumming through his veins.

"Sure it is," he laughs. "Who's the farmer here anyway?"

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "You're not a farmer, and it's not going to rain."

"Okay fine, I'm not a farmer," Merlin admits. "But it's still going to rain."

Arthur pulls a face. "Whatever you say Merlin," he says, long-suffering, as he throws the last of his trousers on the clothesline.

Merlin's been done for the past half hour and is lying back in the grass with his hands behind his head and his legs in the water, having plenty of fun watching Arthur trying, and mostly failing, to scrub at his dirty laundry.

Arthur strips off the tunic and trousers he’s wearing in two swift motions and says, "Well, here's your rain then," and promptly cannonballs into the river, showering Merlin with a spray of cool water.

Merlin sputters and raises himself up, wiping the water from his face.

Arthur resurfaces laughing, and Merlin's stomach somersaults at the sight, at his broad, sun warmed shoulders, the skin paler as it goes down his stomach. Merlin makes himself look up and douses Arthur back. Arthur yelps, and wages war.

He grabs Merlin’s ankles and pulls and Merlin has barely a moment to think _fuck_ before he goes sliding into the water with a little scream. Merlin comes up sputtering and coughing, but seizes the moment to dunk a laughing Arthur into the water.

Merlin’s holding him down, cackling triumphantly, when he jumps back with an, _“Ow!_ ”

Arthur gets up, shaking the water from his hair like a wet dog, and laughs at Merlin’s indignant face.

“Did you just _pinch_ me?”

“All’s fair in love and war,” he says with a cheeky wink, and then they’re after it, grappling and shoving at wet, slippery skin.

Merlin’s magic is buzzing inside him and making too large waves to douse the both of them but he doesn’t care because somewhere in the fray, Merlin loses his shirt and Arthur’s hair is catching the sunlight to make a golden halo around him.

He kind of loses his breath at that, at the tiny water droplets clinging to Arthur’s eyelashes and the full pink of his mouth.

They’re so close with no memory of how they got there, standing in the shallow, muddy part of the river and softly panting for breath.

Arthur looks like he wants to say something, so Merlin waits and considers the flush that’s bloomed from Arthur’s neck to his hips, and then suddenly he’s in a headlock and Arthur’s booming laugh is above him and just like that the moment dissipates like mist.

They roll around in the mud like they’re children, and Merlin thinks getting a little muddy is worth it if it means Arthur can laugh like this, if he can forget the weight of the crown for a little while.

They can't decide a clear winner, as both of them are soaking and have moss in places where moss should not be, so they just lay on the riverbank, pleasantly exhausted.

They head back when they're merely damp and won't garner a lecture from Hunith. Hoisting their baskets of laundry onto their hips, they set off, bumping into each other and breaking into runs with hoots of laughter.

They're almost home when Merlin stops walking at a cottage, staring at the familiar worn grass path and the rickety door they carved their names on the side of.

"That's William's house, isn't it?" Arthur says after a while. 

Merlin startles. He looks at Arthur but Arthur's staring unblinkingly at the house.

Merlin’s throat constricts, and he swallows hard. "We should go. It won't do to have you consorting with evil sorcerers, now would it? Even the dead ones," he says, trying but failing to keep the steel out of his voice.

"I was wrong, Merlin."

Merlin blinks, and it’s as if everything goes still.

"I was wrong," Arthur says again, like he understands the enormity of the situation. "He was good and brave and a loyal friend to you. I see that now. And I'm sorry I didn't see it before."

The sky's become a pale gray, clouds hanging heavy and low. With a great rumble of thunder, fat drops of water begin to fall.

"Told you it was going to rain," Merlin hears himself say.

"Yeah," Arthur says, looking at Merlin with something like sadness in his eyes. "You did."

 

~*~

 

The rain progresses rapidly into a full-blown summer storm, a bit too quickly for it to be natural, and this is exactly why Merlin left Camelot. 

Arthur distracts him; or rather, his magic.

It had started innocuously enough, he supposes, with windows rattling harder than the wind was strong, or Arthur's armor molding to his shape that much better. But then it progressed, to strawberries spontaneously multiplying on Arthur's breakfast plate, right under his nose. For that, he gave his magic a little talking to, and everything was fine for a few days.

But when a fire roared to life from damp wood on a hunting trip immediately after Arthur shivered in his sleep, Merlin knew he had to do something. Arthur's obliviousness could only save him so many times.

And sometimes Arthur’s lack of obliviousness terrifies him. Merlin doesn't even know what to think about what he said about Will. He’s been growing more hopeful about Arthur's acceptance of magic, but Arthur can't ever know about _his_ magic. It would ruin everything, every last shred of trust and faith that Arthur had in him would be gone.

Merlin doesn’t really think that Arthur would burn him at the stake, but even if there was the slightest chance he would banish him, or refuse his help, Merlin can't take that risk, no matter his growing guilt.

This isn’t about him, or his feelings. The fate of Albion will always come before everything. He’s just a fly caught in the amber of destiny and he knows better than to try to escape it. This is his role and he will gladly play it, for Albion, for Arthur.

Merlin frowns at the rain one last time and goes inside.

 

~*~

 

The day of the festival is upon them and the whole village is bustling and cheerful.

The old women seem to have kidnapped Arthur for their yet unknown, but obviously nefarious, purposes and Merlin's trying to squint out of his tiny window to see what they're up to.

Hunith catches him spying and makes him clean the house top to bottom, and expressly forbids any use of magic.

So he scrubs and polishes and straightens and doesn't even think about just magicking away the dust in that corner he can barely reach.

Merlin finishes up and goes outside just in time to see the throng of women around Arthur disassembling. Merlin walks up behind him and says, "So what did they want?”

Arthur spins around, and seems absolutely dumbstruck to see Merlin there. Merlin frowns. He hopes the old women haven't told Arthur any stories of Merlin's childhood. That information would be catastrophically powerful blackmail.

"Oh, they were, uh, just telling me about the...um, the festival. That's tonight. That's all." Arthur gets progressively redder throughout his fumbling sentence and Merlin narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"Were they demanding you marry their daughters again? I know they pinch a lot, but they can't actually hurt you, Arthur. Or, oh dear god," Merlin gasps dramatically, "did Old Woman Alis propose to you?"

"Oh, shut up," Arthur shoves a laughing Merlin and walks off.

"But did you say yes?" Merlin calls after him. "She's probably the best you're ever going to get, let's be honest."

"And hey," Merlin runs to catch up with Arthur. "We've got work to do. No more gossiping with old women for you."

"More laundry?"

"Not quite," Merlin grins.

 

~*~

 

"Guess we've found something you're not good at."

"I'm not good at everything. I'm just good at everything that's not stupid."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You think everything you're not good at is stupid."

Arthur opens his mouth to reply, but comes up with nothing in the face of Merlin's faultless logic. Or maybe he’s just too confused. Merlin takes it as a win either way.

"Alright, let's try this again, but try not to step on my toes this time." 

"That was your fault."

"How is you stepping on my toes my fault?"

"Because your toes were under my feet."

Merlin gives him his best Gaius Eyebrow, but Arthur remains unfazed.

Damn it, he should work on that more.

"Whatever, just come here."

After a little grumbling, Arthur steps up to clasp Merlin's right hand and puts his other hand on Merlin's waist, warm and solid. Merlin knows to steel himself after the first three attempts, but his heart still swoops in his chest.

The window curtains flutter and sound suspiciously like a sigh. Merlin glares at them.

"You alright?" Arthur asks, and Merlin shakes himself.

"Yes, yeah, of course." Merlin laughs nervously. "Well, let's get to it then. And please have some consideration for my poor toes this time."

Arthur rolls his eyes, but starts the dance. Merlin thinks it's simple enough, but apparently Arthur's extensive royal dance training didn't include a little country jig.

"And bend...now swing your arm...no you have to turn there, to the right."

"I did!"

"...Your other right, Arthur," and then, "Ow! You did that on purpose!"

"Did not!"

"So you're just that bad, then?"

"Oh, I'll show you bad!"

"I rather think I've already seen it--" Merlin gasps as Arthur suddenly spins him round in a circle -- damn his fancy dance training -- and catches him with a firm hand on his waist.

Merlin, a bit dizzy and breathing hard, stares into Arthur's blue, blue eyes and how his lips curve up into the slightest smile. He suddenly notices how close they're standing and the heat of Arthur’s hand seeping through his thin shirt. He swallows, and tries to unnotice it.

The front door starts rattling.

"Uh, that must be Mum," Merlin says, lying blatantly and making a mad dash for the door. "Sorry to cut your lesson short."

"It's okay Merlin, I'll just charm them into forgetting I'm a horrible dancer."

"At least you admit it!"

Merlin spends the rest of the day running around the village, helping with the preparations for the festival. He kneads bread for Elaine, sets up the roasting spit with Hancel, cubes cheese for Meredith and Gale (and hides when they catch him sneaking some), and studiously avoids Arthur.

He's on his way to clean up the courtyard where the festival's being held when his mother calls him inside.

"It seems like you arrived yesterday," she says as Merlin comes inside and flops down at the table. "Must you go so soon?" she says, cradling his face between her hands like she used to do when he was little.

Merlin smiles at the fond look in her face. "I'll visit more," he promises in the tone of someone knowing it probably wouldn't happen.

"No you won't," Hunith says smartly. "But I understand. You have a life there, a good one. You're making something of yourself, I can tell." She smooths a hand through his hair.

"I miss you every day," Merlin says honestly.

"I know, darling. I miss you, too," she says as she tugs Merlin up into a long hug and he breathes in the warm smell of her.

When he lets go, Hunith still has a little sadness in her eyes, and Merlin can't stand for that, so he says, "Now I know you don't like magic in the house, but please just this once—"

"You've been saying that since you were five."

"—And I know this is your favorite so don't pretend like you don't like it," Merlin speaks over her, laughing.

Hunith just levels him an unimpressed look, until he cups his hands, whispers a few words, and feels the magic surge under his skin. He opens his hands and a butterfly flies out, large and iridescent blue.

Hunith laughs, delighted, as it comes to rest on her hand before flitting about the room.

"Alright, you're excused this time," she says with a wink. "But open the door and let the poor thing get some air," and she gives him a kiss on the forehead and bustles into the kitchen.

Merlin steps out of the house, and lets the butterfly make its escape. He follows it as it flies lazily down the dirt road, weaving through Jonathan's tulips and the chestnut trees until it reaches...oh, fuck.

Arthur is amidst an enraptured cluster of the village children, and is presumably teaching them to sword fight, but really he just looks like a madman swinging around a twig.

Merlin leans on a tree and watches from some ways away as the butterfly circles Arthur until it finally alights on his shoulder.

Arthur looks up at the touch, and breaks into a giant smile, which does nothing to help his madman status, but Merlin goes breathless anyway.

The children are all cooing over the butterfly now and, dear god, is it _nuzzling_ Arthur now?

Merlin needs to have a very long talk with his magic.

He hurries away before he spontaneously magics up more butterflies that are in love with beautiful prats.

 

~*~

 

The sky settles into a brilliant red sunset and Merlin finishes raking the courtyard just as everyone starts trickling in and milling about, chattering and laughing.

Platters of meat and cheese and giant loaves of bread have been set up, the wood has been stacked for the bonfire, and someone has already got a beat going on the drums.

Arthur joins him, looking a bit harried after having managed to extricate himself from a group of old men forcibly telling him exaggerated old war stories.

"Aw, don't be like that," Merlin says, trying not to laugh. "They just wanted you to like them." He gives Arthur a salacious wink and bursts out laughing when Arthur grimaces.

"Piss off," Arthur tells him. "And pass me some of that cheese, would you."

A gaggle of girls turn up just then, giggling and whispering. Merlin shoves Arthur their way, with a, “Go dance with them, it’ll make their year.”

“What?" Arthur hisses nervously. "You’re the one who said I couldn’t dance.”

“I’m sure they won’t notice, they’ll be too busy staring into your beautiful blue eyes.”

“I don’t think— you think I have beautiful eyes?”

“What—no, I never—I meant—that’s just—"

“You’re such a girl, Merlin,” Arthur laughs and turns away, leaving a flushed Merlin stammering behind him. 

Someone whisks him away before he can think too much about that particular interaction and before he knows it, he’s regaling the townspeople with tales of Camelot, catching up on Ealdor gossip, and then he's being dragged into a dance around the fire with Mona, though he spends the entire time staring over her shoulder.

Arthur is dancing with a girl, Merlin thinks her name is Lily or Liddy or something, the both of them laughing and having a grand old time, and Merlin was right. She’s not paying any attention to Arthur’s horrible dancing. To be fair, he wouldn't be either if he were dancing with Arthur as the firelight plays across his face.

Merlin stumbles into Mona as she abruptly stops dancing.

“Gosh, sorry—"

“Would you like some mead?” Mona asks, and Merlin notices a twinkle in her eye.

“Err, well sure,” he says, cautious. He’s known Mona since they were both wee and he knows firsthand she has a mischievous streak in her a mile wide. She never did tell him where she got all those creepy dolls that she terrorized Will with for months when they were seven.

“It was good of you to bring your prince here,” says Mona, leading him to the food and pouring him a cup of mead. “It’s good for... _morale_ isn’t it?"

Merlin doesn’t like the way she says morale. He just takes a sip and squints at her.

"I suppose, although I didn't really bring him. He kind of just followed me. Sort of like a flea."

"Is that right?" Mona smiles, terrifyingly.

Merlin squints harder.

"At least he's having fun." Merlin looks back to them, and sees Arthur and the girl off to the side now, deep in conversation. He knows he should be happy for Arthur, but he can't help but hope that the girl's dress catches on fire from a wayward spark. He sighs.

Mona rolls her eyes. "You're so melodramatic."

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Right," she says with the air of someone who definitively believes the exact opposite of what she's just been told. Then she brightens, and says, "I heard all the women in the village giving Arthur a talking to this morning. Telling him that he better treat you right.”

"Treat me right? It's not like he hits me...often," Merlin trails off, wondering if maybe they were onto something.

"No, no, not that," Mona waves his words away and grins widely. "They threatened him something unfortunate if he didn't take care of you in, you know, the matters of the heart."

Merlin spits out his mead.

"The _what?_ ”

"Anyway, isn't that your Arthur coming over here now?"

"Huh?" Merlin whirls around to see that Mona is, in fact, correct. "Wait--he's not _my_ Arthur," he turns to tell Mona, but she's already gone.

"Talking to yourself again Merlin?" Arthur says in Merlin's ear and Merlin jumps.

"Uh...no, there was--what do you mean again?" says Merlin, indignant. "I've never--"

"Dance with me."

Merlin stops talking and stares at Arthur, who's looking at him expectantly, and perhaps a little nervously. The heat of the fire paints a light flush on Arthur's cheek and Merlin wants to touch it, feel if it's as warm as it looks. Merlin licks his lips and thinks he imagines Arthur’s eyes flicking towards his mouth.

"I--what?"

"Well, you did teach me. One should reap the fruits of one's labor and all that." Arthur holds out his hands and Merlin takes them in a daze, his heart beating so loud he’s sure Arthur can hear it.

They begin to dance to the slow beat of the drums, a bit away from the others dancing around the bonfire, but close enough to hear the faint laughter. Night has fallen now, and a bruised purple dusk wraps around them.

Arthur holds one of Merlin's hands, the other warm on his waist as they step in rhythm. He can feel his magic about to go haywire, rushing just underneath his skin. Merlin doesn't dare think about what this means. He just looks into Arthur's gentle, smiling eyes and tries very hard not to set anything on fire.

After a long while of Merlin's stomach trying to crawl up his throat, Merlin gathers his thoughts enough to say something coherent.

"Was it nice, then?"

"Hmm?"

"You came here for a holiday, didn't you? How was it?"

"What? No, I--" Arthur stops, and laughs to himself a little, and cups Merlin's cheek, his thumb stroking slowly over the bone. "I came here for you, Merlin."

Merlin sets the fire on fire.

Okay, well, not _really_ . It's just that the bonfire was about to die down, and now with a _slight_ eruption, it's merrily blazing away. Most everyone's too drunk to notice anyway.

Arthur laughs, and Merlin jerks back to face him.

"Did you that because of me?" Arthur asks, eyes bright.

Merlin stills. "Do what?" he says, haltingly.

"You know," Arthur nods at the fire.

Merlin forgets how to breathe. “I do?”

"Yes, you do. And so do I," Arthur says, stepping impossibly closer, and looking _fond_ , off all things. "So can we please stop pretending now. It’s quite exhausting."

"What?"

“It’s okay, Merlin.”

"What?"

" _Merlin_."

Merlin snaps out of it then, and he kind of wishes he hadn’t because it probably means he has to deal with this now.

He takes in a shaky breath and tries to process the situation. He can't. Dread knots his stomach and he chokes out, “You – How did—?”

Arthur shrugs. "I guess I just realized that a lot of rocks seemed to conveniently fall on a lot of bandits. And also how you whispered something right before the falling of the rocks. And the eyes. Can't forget the eyes," he says so matter-of-factly that Merlin trembles. "I guess I began to feel it around me too, somehow. It was like something electric, and warm. It felt like you."

Merlin finds that he has gone horribly numb. Throat dry and palms sweaty, he tries, tries so hard to come up with words, with anything that could tell Arthur how much he regrets and doesn't regret but all he can do is stare.

Arthur doesn't notice, or maybe he does, Merlin doesn't know what Arthur does or does not notice anymore. But either way he just keeps on laughing his soft little laugh and tells Merlin, "I mean, I understand. Why, that is, why you didn't tell me. Sure, I was mad at first but then I figured you'd saved my life too many times for you to want to kill me.

"And I have to keep up pretenses around Father don't I, but when he's gone," Arthur pauses for a beat and Merlin spends the longest moment of his life trying to reconcile King Uther with Arthur's father.

"I respect him and understand that everything he did, he thought he was doing for the good of his people. But I will never be him. No, Merlin, he belongs to another time."

Merlin takes a shaky step back. He's close to tears now and he doesn’t quite know if it’s from relief or just sheer shock.

He thinks Arthur might have seen all that in his eyes, because he gathers him close again with a soft smile, pressing Merlin’s head into his chest. Merlin takes in an unsteady breath, taking in the clean smell of grass and autumn leaves that clings to Arthur. He runs a strong hand up and down Merlin's arm, the other firmly at the small of his back, and they stand like that with the laughter and the sound of crackling wood washing over them.

As Merlin realizes that he has been essentially laid bare, because possibly, the best kept secrets are never really secrets at all, he pulls away from Arthur.

"I’m not going to say I’m sorry, because I'm not sorry," Merlin says, and though his voice may shake, he looks straight into Arthur's eyes. "This is who I am."

Arthur is silent, and Merlin thinks he knows all this but he has to say it anyway. Has to hear himself say it.

"I did what I had to, what I thought was best for you. I suppose I'm like your father that way."

Arthur sort of flinches at that, but Merlin goes on.

"All my magic, everything that I have, it's all for you Arthur." Merlin slowly raises his hands to cup the sides of Arthur's face and, breathing hard, presses their foreheads together. "I was born to serve you," he whispers and feels Arthur tremble slightly under his fingertips. Arthur's hands come up to hold Merlin's waist, grounding him, grounding them both, and they stay like that for a while, swaying steadily and breathing each other's breaths.

Then Arthur suddenly says, "Although there is one thing I'm rather mad about." Merlin looks up, eyes wide.

"If you could please stop trying to die for me, that would be grand." Arthur says it blithely, but Merlin hears the real anger and fear in his voice.

Merlin smiles a little, and at that moment, truly sees in Arthur the king he is going to be. This man before him, with his unfaltering loyalty, his conviction to seek truth and justice, will be a great king because he is a good man.

So, Merlin says simply, "No."

Arthur deflates. "Yeah, thought you might you say that."

"You’ve risked your life for me, too. Several times over. Can't we call it even?"

Arthur studies him for a long while. “I’ll make it better. You’ll see.”

"We’ll make it better. It's our destiny after all, like the dragon said."

Arthur blinks. "The _what_?"

Merlin grins and looks down. Perhaps he has some secrets left after all.

After a beat, Arthur makes a small noise and gives Merlin a considering look.

"I'm not stupid you know," Arthur says, sounding slightly miffed. "You really thought I wouldn't notice for this long?"

Merlin laughs, a bit wetly. "I know you're not stupid. I just thought I was being careful. Thought you weren't looking."

"How could I not look at you?"

Merlin flushes bright red at that, and the tree next to them spontaneously sprouts brilliant red flowers.

Arthur just smiles and closes the small space between them to press his lips lightly to the curve of Merlin’s jaw, the corner of his mouth, and finally to lips. Merlin gives a soft gasp, and fits his mouth to Arthur’s warm, chapped lips.

Arthur draws back after a moment, with something like a question in his eyes but Merlin just pulls him back in close, with no more room for doubts or secrets or lies.

They kiss slow and soft and unhurried and Merlin leans into it with a moan, his hand coming up to slide into the softness of Arthur's hair, lightning running down his spine.

Arthur's hands are everywhere, sliding down Merlin's side and trailing under his tunic, a hot brand against his bare skin. Merlin arches against him, needing to get closer, so much closer. He nudges the seam of Arthur’s mouth open with his tongue and feels Arthur shudder, feels him open for him.

Arthur tastes like honey mead and warmth and Merlin never wants this to end. His magic surges inside him, dizzying and heady, and he presses deeper into Arthur’s mouth.

There’s a sudden loss of contact as Arthur pulls away, and Merlin makes a desperate noise that he probably should be more embarrassed of.

"Is there any particular reason we're floating, Merlin?"

Merlin looks down at their feet, which are indeed several inches in the air, and blushes.

"Have I swept you off your feet, Merlin?"

Merlin buries his head in the hollow of Arthur's neck and giggles. "Shut up," he mumbles and goes back to kissing Arthur, swaying under the expanse of the night sky.

 

~*~

 

Merlin blinks awake at a feather light touch on his shoulder.

He looks down from where he's lying on his side and wakes fully when he realizes that he only has on what seems to be Arthur's tunic with hazy recollection of how he came to be wearing it. Then he remembers that it was cold during the night in the threadbare sheets, despite the furnace that is Arthur, and then he remembers the everything else that he fervently hopes was not a dream.

Arthur's hand comes to wrap around him from behind, twining their hands together, and Merlin feels his lips pressing in his hair. Not a dream then. Merlin's smile takes over his entire face and he's fairly sure the tips of his ears are bright red.

"Good morning," Arthur says from behind him, kissing down the slope of Merlin's neck and nosing the tunic off further and further.

Merlin wholeheartedly agrees.

"Love what you've done with the place," Arthur comments with a nip on his ear, and Merlin takes a moment to be confused before deciding Arthur's gone insane and is about to tell him as much when Arthur nods at the wall behind them.

Merlin tilts his head up and sees green vines climbing the wall, blooming with bright pink and yellow and orange flowers.

He groans, and Arthur laughs smugly into his neck.

An hour later, the wall in front of them is sprouting violets.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i stole the dancing in the air bit from willow/tara dont @ me


End file.
